


All in all is all we are

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Apologies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guilt, Missing Scene, Pie, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: "We owe each other apologies," Jack said once.It's time.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmerman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	All in all is all we are

**Author's Note:**

> References to Jack's mental health and overdose (which is referred to as a suicide attempt.) Takes place in Year Four, around chapters 19-20.

The game had been long and brutal, and Kent spent what felt like an hour in the shower. Fuck the Falconers. Every fucking game with them was some bullshit epic battle, and Coach’d told them not to fuck with Zimms, and he sure as fuck hadn’t, but that still hadn’t stopped Mashkov from taking him out in the third. He’d passed the concussion protocol and all his teeth were still in, but he would have one hell of a bruise tomorrow. It didn’t look great as he toweled off.

“Hey,” he said, as he came out of the bathroom. “Does this place have room service? I’m fucking starving--“

Jeff, his roommate for the night, was sitting on the edge of his bed next to Jack Zimmerman. 

To his credit, Zimms looked a little embarrassed. “Hey,” he said.

Kent was too shocked to play it cool. “What the--what?”

Zimms held up a box. “I brought pie,” he said. “Can we talk?”

Jeff, who’d clearly been waiting for an excuse to run out the door and avoid the drama, all but leapt off the bed. “No room service,” he said. “I was gonna walk down the street, there’s a Chinese take-out place. You want your usual?”

“If they’ve got it, sure,” Kent said. “Um. Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. Just save me some pie.” He paused at the door. “If you need anything extra, text me, okay?”

Which meant _tag me back in if things go to shit._ Kent appreciated that.

“Sure,” Kent said, and Scraps was gone and Kent was alone with fucking Jack and a fucking box of pie. _What,_ he thought again.

“Eric said you’d stopped by,” Zimms said, and oh shit, he should’ve _known_ that Bittle would tell Jack fucking everything. And okay, he’d wanted Bittle to pass on his apology, but not if it meant this...whatever this shit was. Pie. _Pity._

“Look,” he said. “I didn’t want you to--“

“It’s okay,” Zimms said, soft and gentle, and who the fuck was this guy and what had he done with Jack Zimmerman? “Kent--we--I told Eric a while ago we owed each other apologies. And you did yours, and I think mine’s due too.”

Shit was not getting any _less_ weird, that was for sure.

Zimms gestured at the opposite bed. “You should. Um. Sit. And maybe put on some pants.”

Kent should’ve grinned at that, said some bullshit about not wanting _Eric_ to get jealous, but his brain and his mouth had both gone on strike, so instead he grabbed his sweats out of his suitcase and slid them on, his back to Zimms. He straightened up, using the towel on his still-drying hair, so he’d have something to do with his hands.

“So, I--my parents only told me a couple years ago that it was you. Who found me. I hadn’t--fuck, Kenny, I hadn’t even thought about it before then. I went to sleep, I woke up in the hospital. I don’t know what the fuck I thought. I thought about getting better.”

“You had to,” Kent said. “You had to get better.”

“I had to,” Jack agreed. “There was a lot of shit I had to work through. Still working through some of it.” He looked down at the box of pie on the mattress. “I need you to know, though. When I--when I did it. It wasn’t you. I didn’t want to get away from you.”

Kent realized he was about thirty seconds from bursting into tears. Fuck. _Fuck._

 _It’s not your fault,_ the therapist had said, but how could she have known that? Kent hadn't told her shit.

“I just...I just thought it’d be easier. You’d go first in the draft, you’d have this fucking great career, you’d be better off without me dragging you down.”

“That’s not--“ _That was never true._

“That was what my brain was telling me. And it was a lie, I know. I know it wasn’t true. It’s an illness, and I get that, but I still don’t know how it…got so dark. But after...I had to focus on getting better. And every time I wanted to talk to you, or call you, it was like...all I could think of was that darkness again. And I pushed it away. I pushed you away, like you said.”

“I’m sorry,” Kent said, because he was.

“I--that wasn’t your fault. I don’t regret doing what I did afterward, because I didn’t know any other way to get better. But it hurt you, and I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry it took me so long to realize how hard it must have been on you.”

Oh. 

“I mean--Eric loses his mind when I get a fucking bruise. And sometimes when he--“ He stopped and started over. “I almost _died,_ and you couldn’t even talk to anyone about it.”

“My parents knew,” Kent said. “Your parents knew.”

“Yeah,” Zimms said. “But that’s not the same as talking with your friends. Or your teammates.”

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”

“Did you even tell your therapist?”

“I only saw her a couple of times,” Kent said. “I didn’t. I...I couldn’t.” There’d been another therapist later, but Jack didn’t need to know about that. Jeff had figured it out, and it'd been easier after that.

“Maman had to tell mine.” He shook his head. “No wonder we couldn’t even talk to each other afterward.”

“I just wanted to forget it all, and go back to the way it was. I shouldn’t have pushed you. And I should’ve known--I should’ve seen, Jack.” He’d thought it through for years. All the little hints. All the times he saw Zimms double up on his medication. The way he’d acted so happy, had tried to make everything perfect those last days before the draft. Red flag after red flag, and he’d been too fucking stupid to see any of them.

“We were kids,” Jack said. “We were just stumbling around and trying not to fuck up. I think maybe it’s time we’re not so hard on...who we used to be. Maybe we just say our apologies and eat some pie, and...try to move forward.”

Shit. What a fucking concept. “You think we can?”

Zimms chuckled a little. “I don’t know,” he said. “But it’s better than what we’ve got now, right?”

There was a knock at the door. Seemed too early for Chinese, but--

“Parser?” Shit, that was Scraps. “You okay?”

“He can have some pie too,” Jack said. “It’s a whole pie.”

“Give me a fucking second, Scraps,” Kent yelled at the door, hoping it was too early for anyone in the other rooms to start complaining about noise. “Think there’s forks or anything in this room? I know I saw coffee stirrers…”

Jack lifted the lid of the cardboard pie box. There, taped to the inside lid, were several sets of disposable silverware, the kind in plastic pouches with a napkin.

“Jesus Christ,” Kent said.

“He thinks of everything,” Jack said, with a little, affectionate chuckle. 

It hurt, but maybe it was okay that it hurt. Maybe it meant that Kent was finally _coming to terms with his own emotions,_ like Yvon had said a couple of sessions ago. “You’re happy?”

“I’m happy,” Jack said. “And I don’t hate myself any more.”

“That’s good,” Kent said. He gestured at the door. “I’m gonna--“

“Yeah, of course,” Jack said. “Let’s have some pie.”

Scraps gave Jack a hell of a glare as he came in, but he warmed up once he realized that Kent was all right. They dug in with forks--Bittle had packed little plates, but they all ignored them by unspoken agreement--and there was still a decent amount left when Jeff got back with the food. 

“I should get going,” Jack said. “I’ve got a flight tomorrow. But--“

“Thanks,” Kent said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Thanks.”

Jeff and Scraps watched him go, and then both turned their attention right back on Kent. “I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t be such little old ladies.”

“Okay,“ Jeff said, and started taking styrofoam packages of food out of the bag. Scraps stole half of it, but Jeff had clearly expected that and bought extra, so it worked out. The two of them were arguing over fucking baseball by the time Kent snuck off to the head. They were ridiculous. Shit, was it even the pre-season yet?

Kent pissed, washed his hands, realized he should’ve washed his hands before pissing because everything felt sticky now, and was trying to clean up his sweatpants when he heard Jack’s voice in his head again. _It wasn’t you. I didn’t want to get away from you._

_It’s not your fault._

He held onto the bathroom counter for dear fucking life and forced himself to breathe. 

“It’s not my fault,” he said to the bathroom mirror. Sure, he barely said it out loud because of the idiots in the next room, but he’d said it out loud. That was something, right?

Maybe he was finally starting to believe it.


End file.
